


Of course

by eloquentelegance



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:03:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eloquentelegance/pseuds/eloquentelegance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hold on!" Ice King slips off the fridge and lands awkwardly on the floor. "Do you... like me?"</p>
<p>Marceline's expression collapses, "Of course I do, you old jerk!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of course

He’s standing in your kitchen and it’s like some kinda messed up dream that you swear you never had. Except that you do, more often than you like. Because he’s here and he’s talking to you. He knows your name. And glob, if that isn’t exactly what you used to wish for, back when the skies were still clogged with smoke and soot and the echoing screams of decaying damned. Emphasis on ‘used to’, before everything got all messed up, before he got all messed up. And all that’s left is you standing in the kitchen with the shambled pieces in front of you. And! And he has the gall to ask.

 

“Do you like me?”

 

It sends you reeling back to a time when you slept in cramped backseats or camped out under the smog kissed stars, huddling by the fire you’re not quite sure you felt anymore. Back when every part of you was sore and aching, when your days were filled with endless walking through deformed skeletons of buildings, cities, people, and your nights were spent with one ear always open, turned to the shadows because just in case. Just in case it was your last night because it may very well be. Back when you were terrified.

 

Back when you were happy. Back when he made goofy expressions from a hollowed out TV, when he made pop culture references that once upon a time made sense and you laughed because it made him smile. Back when he knew your name and sang you made up songs and covered your ears when he cursed, like the most awful thing he could do around you was shout out a couple of curse words when you saw carcasses and guts every day of your life.

 

And he asks you if you like him.

 

“Of course, I do, you old jerk.”

 

Of course. It’s a given. It’s an unquestionable fact. An immutable truth. Why is he even asking this pointless, stupid, donking question?! Of course, you like him. Of course, of course, of course!

 

"Really? Wow." And there’s that moment of uncertainty, where he rubs his arm, and you marvel over that small, achingly familiar gesture. Then promptly kick yourself for being such a sap. But he opens his arms. He opens his arms and he asks, “How about one of these?”

 

It really is like a dream. A horribly messed up, wonderful dream where he’s standing in your kitchen, with his arms wide open. And you think of a backseat and a back alley, when snow fell all around you and right outside was a horde of mutated somethings frozen in their tracks. You think of arms that wrapped around you, arms long enough to wrap around you twice. You think of shaking, with relief, with happiness, because he was back and he was safe and you were safe. Because he was going to protect you, always and always.

 

So you sag. Everything about you is tired and worn, like a big rusty spoon just plunged in and scooped out everything raw and pulsing from you. You’re like one of those puppets with their strings sawed off. And you fall. You throw your arms around him and you fall.

 

Glob, when was the last time you did this? When did he get so small? Were his shoulders always this narrow?

 

And for two seconds, you count them, one and two. You let yourself be that little girl he used to carry around. And you let him be the silly old man who stared at VHS tapes and said he was watching a movie.

 

Do you like him? What a dumb question. Duh, of course, you do. Of course, of course, of course. How could he ever think otherwise?

 

Then he leans in and tries to kiss you.

 

And you think, oh. That’s why.

 

You push him away, of course you push him.

 

Because he’s not Simon.

 

And he hasn’t been Simon for a very long time.


End file.
